Supernatural Hunger Games
by Porphyrouspanda
Summary: Castiel Smith is thrust into The Hunger Games when he volunteers for his brother Gabriel. There, he meets Dean Whinchester who also volunteers for his brother Sam.


The Hunger Games: the words that echo through the minds of thousands in Panem. We celebrate the Capital. We celebrate Snow. We celebrate birth and love.  
I am Castiel Smith. I am seventeen. My district is one, and I am unlike the rest. I fear four things; the Captital, Snow, birth, and love.

My name is Castiel.  
I hear my name being shouted from across the room. Groggy with sleep, I wave it off. It grows louder and louder until I can't ignore it. My mother, a woman of 34, is breathing in my face. Her breath smells of smoke and champagne.  
"Castiel Smith!" she screams. I am sure to other people, my mother is beautiful. To me she is nothing but shrill and crude. She has long blonde hair that falls in perfect curls, framing her angular face. Her cheek bones are higher than mine and upon them rest two ocean blue eyes. Her eyes are all I have inherited. I look much like my father, who I have never seen but in pictures. He had dark, cropped hair and dark grey eyes. His face was thick, it seemed to be chiseled from stone. My mother loves to say he was from the Capital and that he swept her off her feet during her teenage years. I know better. My father was from District 12, he has the distinct characteristics and the personality to boot. According to my mother, at least. I have no idea how they met, or how they had the chance to get my mother pregnant, but I try not to think about it too much.  
"Yes, mother?" I ask, pushing her from my face. She stares at me in awe, her fingers tapping her watch.  
"The reaping, Castiel. The reaping! It's time! Get up!" She shouts, excited as can be. She is already dressed in a silver dress that sticks to her skin from her chest to her knees. She is adorned in jewelry; diamonds, rubies, and gold. Pink sparkles fleck her cheeks and silver shadows her eyes from eyelash to eyebrow. My eyes drop down from her face to my hands. I hate the reaping. Every member of the first district fights for their moment to win the games. I on the other hand, would rather not risk my life for the sake of everyone's entertainment. The only way I would ever go in is if they called my brother's name, Gabriel. As if on cue, Gabriel runs in with two suckers in his mouth. He jumps on my bed and attempts to hand one to me. I shake my head and sigh. Gabriel is fourteen years old but acts like a four year old. He is foolish and would get killed in a heartbeat. Although I know he strives to enter the games, I could never force myself to watch him get killed. I push him from my chest and sit up. Across my lap is the clothes my mother has chosen for me to wear today. My thoughts flicker from death to parties, all covered with bloodshed.  
I shoo my family from my room and pull on my clothes. I stand in the mirror that takes up a wall in my room. My family is vain, I am aware that I am not as I stand there in a grey button up, blue tie, black slacks, and black dress shoes. My mother tends to choose the more extreme outfits, but she knows I won't wear them. So I suppose, she has chosen this on the account that I am late. I slide my hand through my dark hair. It wisps back and then springs back forward as soon as I remove my hand. I slide on my father's silver ring and search for myself in what I'm wearing. I look strange, compared to what normal is in district one. I feel at peace in my outfit, as if I am one of a kind. Just as my father was, so shall I. I trudge through the door and down two different sets of stairs. At the end stands my mother and my brother. Gabriel is dressed in sparkling red blazer, black skinny pants, red shoes, and three candy ring pops. His eyes are lined with red liner and his cheeks are flushed with blue. The sight makes me feel uneasy, he looks so odd to me. I let out a deep breath and join them as we walk toward the car.

(We'll see how this goes before I publish more.)


End file.
